Those that Forget
BY
Denise
Galena ran.
Rantoul's hand held hers, crushing her fingers in his iron grip. He pulled her behind him, his long legs maintaining a stride that she couldn’t hope to match. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath rasped in her throat. The rough cobblestones of the street tore at her fine slippers, ripping their meager protection from her feet, and still she ran.
Her heels slammed on the rounded stones, the impact making her bones shudder. She could smell the smoke as she gasped for breath. Her blood roared in her ears and she could still hear the screams.
Rantoul's hand tightened and he pulled her arm painfully, jerking her into a narrow alleyway. Galena's bare feet splashed and slipped through something horribly cold and nasty and Rantoul drew her towards him, shielding her with his body.
She clung to his heaving chest, her face buried into his neck as she heard the mob run past. Flickering torchlight paraded past their hideout and Galena felt Rantoul's arms tighten more, almost crushing her in his attempt to protect her. She could feel his heart
thumping in his chest and his shirt was clammy and wet with sweat.
They would see them. She knew that they would see them. And then they would come, screaming and fighting. They would tear her from Rantoul's arms, drag her across the square. Maybe they would hang her like they did Athon. She saw her friend, dangling from the archway to the temple, his head twisted unnaturally to the side, his feet limply hanging under the edges of his torn silk robe, his hands bound helplessly behind his back.
Or maybe they would burn her like they did Rahon. He'd screamed, begging for mercy as flames licked up his legs. She could still see him, see the terror and pain as it crossed his face. He was just a scribe, a kind and gentle scribe who dedicated his life to memorializing his God's words and rulings. He'd never hurt them, never hurt anyone. And for that, they had murdered him.
Slowly, Rantoul's arms loosened and Galena looked up, raising her head from his sweat soaked chest. "They are gone," he whispered. "Come," he urged.
Again he grasped her hand, pulling her after him as he made his way down the narrow alleyway. With her mind unable to process the events of the night, she meekly followed, letting him lead her from alley to alley, always careful to keep in the shadows.
Around them, she heard more screams, sometimes punctuated by explosions. It was chaos. A chaos that she couldn’t even comprehend. A chaos that she'd never dreamed would come to pass.
Slaves ran in the streets, rioting and pillaging as they went. They burned and destroyed, murdering and looting with impunity. They were wild, undisciplined and untamed.
This was why they'd needed a leader, why they'd needed their god. Because without their god they were nothing but children, reveling in their freedom and not realizing that without their god to protect them, that freedom would soon be as bitter as ashes upon their tongues.
They reached the end of an alley and Rantoul paused, sticking his head out to look from side to side. Galena cowered behind him, her fingers digging into his shoulder. She tried to pull him back into the shadows, he couldn't let them see him.
"It is safe, hurry." He left the sanctuary of the alley, pulling her behind him.
Unable to do anything else, she followed, biting her lip at the pain from her feet. They were sore and bruised. She was unused to this. She rarely left the temple and when she did, she was borne in a litter, a method of transportation that befitted her position as her Lord's Lotar.
Rantoul pulled her across the square and stopped before a plain looking home. He released her hand and applied himself to the wooden plank door, making short work of forcing his way through it.
Galena followed him in and stood to one side as he propped the broken door in its frame, obviously hoping to mask his break in. "We cannot hide here. The owners will return," she said.
"We are not hiding." Rantoul smiled at her. "Not here anyway."
"We must find somewhere safe to hide until our Lord returns," Galena said. "He will deal with these rebels and then things can return to the way they are supposed to be."
Rantoul shook his head, his dark hair hanging loosely around his face. Galena could barely make out his features in the dim light of the home. It was appointed simply, as was what Galena would expect in a slave's home. The furnishings were rough-hewn wood, plain but sturdy. A few cushions dotted the floors, serving as sleeping pallets and clothing hung on pegs stuck into the earthen brick wall. There was a hearth in the corner and the fire burned fitfully; obviously the owners had not had time to properly bank it before they fled.
Rantoul stalked over to the wall and pulled clothing from it. "Change your clothes," he ordered.
"What?" Galena held them in her hands. These were not clothing fit even for a temple slave. They were rough fibers, finely woven but still of such an inferior quality that she would not even use them for a cleaning cloth.
"Change your clothing," he repeated, pulling another set of clothing off another peg and holding it up, testing if it would fit.
He began to strip, efficiently peeling off his heavy clothes. Her brother did not serve their Lord in the temple like she did, rather he worked in the mines. He was a leader among the workers and well known for his ability to meet and even exceed his Lord's requirements.
"Rantoul, I do not see—"
"Galena." Rantoul stepped forward and grabbed her arms, holding her so that he could look her in the eyes. "Our Lord is gone. He may return," he said quickly, stifling her protests. "However, if we do not hide ourselves, he shall return to find nothing but rebelling children." He held up the shirt. "We can take advantage of the chaos. We can alter our appearance, pretend to be among the rebels."
"Our loyalty should be to our Lord, not ourselves."
"If we do not safeguard our lives, our Lord will have nothing to return to," he countered. He took her hand and dragged her towards the broken door, maneuvering so that they could see out the small crack left by him propping the door against its frame. "They will kill you. They do not care if you ever hurt them, they will kill you simply because of who you are." He shook her harshly. "Do you understand, Galena? The only way we can survive is to deny who we are."
"Our Lord will punish us for such a thing," she said. "He chose us to serve him and we should be proud of that fact."
"Our Lord is gone!" he shouted. "He has left and we must survive. They will kill us if they discover that we served our Lord Horus. The only way we can truly serve our Lord is to survive so that we can be ready to resume our positions when he returns."
"Survive," she whispered, embracing the idea for the first time. She remembered Athon and Rahon. Remembered that they had died with their Lord's name on their lips, loyal even to death. They would have gone to Kheb, their loyalty would have insured them a place among the loyalist of the loyal.
But they had died. And they had died such horrible, painful deaths. A fate that she lacked the courage to face.
"We survive," he repeated. "We shall live among them. We shall become them. And we shall keep our Lord's memory alive. That is how we shall serve our Lord."
Emboldened by his words, Galena nodded. Rantoul released her arms and she slowly made her way across the room. She picked up the dress she'd dropped and held it before her. It was still ugly, but it was practical. Far more practical than the thin silks she was permitted to wear. Silks that gave her little protection from the chill of the night. The person had shoes too. Heavy, sturdy shoes that would protect her feet from the ground, and even more importantly, keep them from contact with whatever vile substances were in the gutters.
Rantoul slipped the shirt over his head, disguising the muscles developed from years of labor in the mines. Galena reached for her sash, a thought stilling her movement. "Rantoul?" she asked. "What if our Lord never returns?"
/////
The vehicle bounced and rattled and Colonel William Ronson clenched his teeth, smothering a grunt as he struggled to maintain his equilibrium. He made a mental note to talk to Major Gant when he returned to Prometheus, have her check out the details of the whole 'don't share our technology with more primitive races' rule. Surely shock absorbers weren't included in the list of banned articles.
He looked out the windows, squinting against the brightness. Their vehicle bounced and bumped its way along a barely perceptible road cut through the middle of a barren wasteland. As far as he could see, there was nothing but sand, rocks and an occasional scrubby tree. The ventilation system of the vehicle was primitive at best, a fine layer of dust was in the air.
"I apologize for the rough ride," his companion said. "Even with weekly trips to and from the Stargate this landscape is simply too rugged for a smooth trip."
"That is quite all right, Chairman," Ronson said, pasting a smile on his face. "You said that people were coming out here to live?" he asked, turning to look at Chairman Ashwan who sat in the back seat of the vehicle with him. Two officers were in the front seat, serving the dual role of bodyguards and driver.
"Yes," Ashwan answered. "I find it absolutely incredible that anyone would prefer to live out here." He gestured, waving his hand out the window.
"How can they survive?" Ronson asked.
"I do not know," Ashwan answered. "I would presume that they have either found a water source or they have someone bringing them supplies."
"That's pretty extreme," Ronson said. "Especially when your cities aren't all that crowded."
"They're zealots," the driver said, glancing over his shoulder. His name was Marcin Reina and during the past three months that Colonel Ronson had been stranded on Tagrea waiting to repair the Prometheus, Reina had accompanied him and Ashwan on several tours of the area.
"Mister Reina—" Ashwan started, intent on chastising the man.
"Chairman, with all due respect, they are zealots," he insisted.
"They're Followers of Horus," the bodyguard said, his tone a bit calmer.
"Oh," Ronson said, nodding. It all made sense now. "Has the religious sect really grown that much?" he asked. When the Prometheus had first landed on Tagrea the religious group numbered a bare handful of people, most of them keeping their beliefs quiet and hidden behind a veil of secrecy.
Ashwan nodded. "Yes. There is nothing like proof to increase a person's belief," he said wryly.
"Proof we provided," Ronson said.
Ashwan shrugged. "It was likely inevitable. The simple fact that the group has survived for this long is evidence enough that it will not die easily."
The vehicle bounced to a halt and Reina turned around. "We're here, sir," he said. They climbed out of the vehicle and Ronson paused, the heat catching him off guard after the cooled aired of the vehicle. He took a couple of steps, stretching his muscles as the other men did the same thing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, sliding them onto his face.
This was one of many such field trips that Ashwan had taken Ronson on, citing both an opportunity to exchange ideas and opinions and simply a chance to get to know each other as reasons for their weekly expeditions. At first, Ronson had balked at the invitations. There was too much work to be done on his ship to feel comfortable taking time off. In many ways, he felt like he was abandoning his crew, leaving them to work while he played. But, after a while, he realized that it was good for him to get out. Of course, the fact that Major Gant had threatened to have him locked in the brig had nothing to do with his consenting to the weekly trips.
"What have we come out here to see?" he asked, turning to face Ashwan. The man was also wearing a pair of sunglasses. Ronson had given them to him a few weeks ago at the suggestion of Major Gant. Ronson ignored the fact that they were the modern day equivalent of glass beads.
"As you know, Colonel, they've been doing a lot of exploring since your people found the Stargate," Ashwan said, moving to stand at Ronson's side.
"You've said that," Ronson agreed. If he looked, he could barely see the top of the gate off in the distance and knew that they were maybe a mile or so from it.
"We found something rather interesting," Ashwan said. "We were hoping that you could give us some insight into what it is."
Ronson shrugged. "I can try, although we might have to send it back to Earth," he warned. "Chairman, you know that while I am the commander of Prometheus, there is a lot of the universe that I haven't explored."
"I will be very surprised if you do not know of this," Ashwan said, a mysterious look on his face. He led them towards a large outcropping and Ronson followed, not surprised to see the two bodyguards staying close. Some of the tensions between his and Kalfas' men may have eased but it was still there, simmering beneath the surface.
The political status of this planet was distinctly unstable at the moment and that instability was a threat to his crew. Because of that, Ronson had ordered Gant to monitor the planet's communications systems. So he knew that there had been random acts of violence here and there.
The only thing that put his mind at ease was that Ashwan didn't deny the reports. The Chairman wasn't too fond of knowing that Ronson could basically spy on his planet, but once Gant explained to the chairman that anyone could listen in, and even managed to find one of Earth's old radio broadcasts, the man calmed down.
They had, however, reached the mutual agreement that the less said the better. Which is why no one outside of Chairman Ashwan was aware that the Prometheus was listening in.
Ashwan led them to the edge of a small ravine, a feature Ronson didn't remember from his flyover a few months ago. Then again, he'd been preparing his ship and crew for a battle, he hadn't exactly had time to sightsee.
"As you can imagine, there has been a renewed interest in this area," Ashwan said, descending into the ravine. Ronson followed silently amazed that the man could move so nimbly encumbered with his normal attire of long pants and long vest.
Of course, after watching SG-1 strap on weapon after weapon a couple of months ago, he couldn't see how they could move either.
"Sightseeing problems?" he asked, grabbing a small outcropping to steady himself.
Ashwan looked at him and frowned, cocking his head slightly to one side. "I believe so," he said. "Although I am not totally familiar with the term."
He continued on and Ronson could see that the appearance of the ravine was deceptive. On the surface it looked rather small and shallow, yet if you turned the right way, there was a wide tunnel hidden just beneath the surface.
Ronson looked up and saw daylight. Perhaps not a tunnel per se but a wide ravine that was so narrow at the top that it nearly fit the definition of a tunnel.
"Two such – sightseers – found this crevasse last week. Fortunately, we were the first people they reported it to." Ashwan paused, turning back to look at Ronson. "They have since been persuaded to keep quiet."
"Persuaded?" Ronson raised his eyebrows, the man's choice of words bringing up some rather unpleasant images.
"Monetary compensation, Colonel," he said. "A quite handsome amount I might add."
The tunnel turned and narrowed, the daylight fading as they walked.
"Sir." Reina held out a light source and Ashwan took it, holding it high. He led them around another corner and stopped, holding out an arm to keep Ronson from stepping forward.
Ashwan held the light high and Ronson stared, not believing what he was seeing. "Oh my god," he breathed.
"I had that same response when I first saw it," Ashwan said, smiling slightly. "I presume that you do know what this is." Even in the dim torchlight, a shiny gold and black surface glittered under a thick layer of dust. Ronson craned his neck, looking down, down and down into the dark depths of the planet.
Ronson nodded, tearing his wide eyes from the sight before them. "I've never actually seen one before, but yes, I do know what it is." He turned to face Ashwan. "Chairman, that is a Hatak class warship. And, in the interests of friendship, I can tell you that Earth would be very interested in gaining access to it."
/////
"You know, if Hammond is going to pull me off my vacation, the least he can do is start the briefing on time," Jack groused, shooting a glance at the closed door. Through the window he could see that the general was on the phone. And it wasn't a pleasant call, not if the scowl on the man's face was any indication.
Getting no response, Jack turned his attention back to his team. Teal'c was seated across from him, the man's massive arms resting casually on the table. Jonas sat beside him, the man's recently shorn head covered by a regulation cap. All in all, he looked remarkably healthy for a man who'd had his head carved open a few weeks ago.
Carter, who sat next to Jack, remained silent--although her expression spoke volumes. "Let me guess, you were playing in your lab when he called," Jack said. His second was famous – or maybe infamous – for working long, moderately insane hours. One of these days she was going to burn out and Jack sincerely hoped that he wasn't going to be around to see it.
"Actually sir, I wasn't," she said. She looked over at Jonas and sighed softly. "We were about eighty or ninety miles down I-25."
"We?" Jack asked, not sure what shocked him more. That she'd left the base or that she hadn't been alone.
"Jonas had never seen New Mexico," she said, shrugging slightly.
Jack blinked slowly, glancing between the pair. "He got to ride your bike?" he asked. The Major's bike was sacrosanct, the last time she'd had it in the facility she hadn't even allowed Jack to touch it. In fact, she'd roped Teal'c into guarding the bike…with his staff weapon.
"We took the car," Carter answered.
"We were going to go down to this one national park," Jonas said. "Sam even got us a cabin and there were some abandoned Indian cave dwellings," Jonas enthused.
"Yeah, wouldn't want to miss that," Jack drawled, oddly fascinated that Jonas would find dried up rocks and ruins so interesting.
"Have you not expressed concern that Major Carter should leave the facility more often?" Teal'c asked, nonplussed by the glare Jack shot his way. For as reticent as he normally was, Teal'c had a bad habit of shooting his mouth off.
"Yeah, but three hours on the road to see rocks?" Jack asked.
"It's what Jonas wanted to see," Carter said evenly, looking Jack in the eyes. He got her silent message and felt his face color as the implications sank in.
Jonas had nearly died a few weeks ago when a fast growing tumor threatened his life. According to Doctor Frasier he was nearly fit for duty. And Jack himself knew just how edgy and depressed a person could get as they convalesced. For many people, nothing cured that edginess faster than a trip. It was something Jack had forgotten about until now. He felt a tiny twinge of guilt. He was the team leader and he should have thought to check in on Jonas and maybe do something to help him with his recuperation.
"How far'd you make it?" he asked, quashing that niggling feeling of guilt. What was done was done and he knew better than to worry about what might have beens. He'd just make it up to them. Maybe rent a movie and invite them over.
"Trinidad," Carter answered. "We were just finishing lunch when the general called.
"That's what you get for taking your cell phone," Jack said.
Carter glared at him, her retort dying before it left her lips as Hammond's door opened. She shot to her feet, the rest of SG-1 following suit.
"As you were," Hammond said, waving his hand as he took his seat at the head of the table. "Yesterday I received a communiqué from Colonel Ronson," he began.
"They're still on Tagrea aren't they?" Jonas asked.
"He hasn't gotten that bird in the air yet?" Jack groused.
"They're still waiting for the replacement hyper drive, sir," Carter said.
"It's been three months."
"It took us two years to build the first one. And it would have taken longer had we not,,,appropriated, the ship we found in Steveston, Oregon."
"Two years?" Jack raised his eyebrows. All of a sudden, he was incredibly grateful that Jonas and Teal'c had found the gate on Tagrea. Marooned for two years? Oy—
"Now that we know how to do it, manufacturing the replacement will take significantly less time," she continued. "But it's still not something we can pick up at the local auto parts store…sir."
"Colonel Ronson expects to have the Prometheus space-worthy within the month," Hammond interrupted.
"The crew's going to be glad to get home," Jonas said.
"Some of them already are," Hammond said.
"Once Colonel Ronson was comfortable with the political situation, he started rotating his crew back to Earth," Carter said.
"He's been maintaining a skeleton maintenance staff," Hammond said. "Once the replacement hyper drive is finished the full crew will return and they'll bring Prometheus home."
"Ronson's gotta hate that," Jack quipped, leaning back in the chair. Hammond raised his eyebrows. "It's no fun to run twenty drills a day if it's the same handful of crew," Jack explained.
In one way, he couldn't blame the man. Running drills was the best way to train. Anyone could read a book and quote facts. What counted was a person's ability to do what they'd read. However, there was such a thing as overkill. Have too many drills and you run the risk of the crew burning out. Not to mention the effects of too much stress and too little sleep.
"Nevertheless," Hammond continued. "The Colonel has been taking some field trips, courtesy of Chairman Ashwan. He's been trying to build some bridges and learn a bit about Tagrea's culture. Yesterday, Chairman Ashwan took him out into the desert, not far from where the Stargate is. He found this." Hammond picked up a remote off the table and pointed it at the screen. The flat surface flickered into life and Jack watched as a picture came into focus.
"Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" he asked, as Carter gasped softly.
"That is a Hatak class ship," Hammond said. "And it appears intact."
"I thought you scanned that planet?" Jack asked, turning to face Carter.
"I was looking for a Stargate, not a space ship, sir," she replied, bristling slightly.
"It looks buried," Jonas said, getting up and walking over to the screen.
"It is," Hammond confirmed, bringing up a different picture. This one showed the Hatak clearly surrounded by stone.
"How did they dig a hole that deep?" Carter asked.
"A Hatak ship's weapons are more than capable of such a feat," Teal'c said.
"They buried everything else goa'uld on that planet, why not a ship?" Jack said, shrugging.
"Because it'd be like burying an air craft carrier," Carter said.
"Actually, it makes perfect sense," Jonas said.
"How?"
"From what I could gather, there was a rebellion on Tagrea. The slaves rose up against the masters."
"It is likely that Tarek Solamun and the other Followers of Horus are the descendants of the goa'uld sympathizers," Teal'c said.
"And those sympathizers were probably on the run and hunted by the slaves," Jonas said, moving back to retake his seat.
"They're also probably the only ones that knew how to run the technology left behind when Heru'ur left," Carter said. "Presuming that's what he did." She turned to glance around the table. "Unless we have two goa'uld taking on the persona of Heru'ur, he had to have survived the rebellion."
Jonas nodded. "If the slaves had possession of a ship that they couldn't control, they'd bury it just like they did all the other goa'uld stuff."
"Little flaw in your plan," Jack said. "If all the sympathizers were hiding, then how'd they use the ship's weapons to dig the hole?" He had the satisfaction of watching Jonas, Carter and Teal'c all exchange glances, clearly caught off guard.
"It is very likely that not all of the sympathizers escaped. The slaves could have used a hostage to use the weapons," Teal'c said.
"Why didn't they leave?"
"Tagrea was their home. If they took the ship off the planet, then they'd be easy pickings for any other goa'uld in the area. Or maybe it was too damaged to fly," Carter said. "Sir, even with C4, we'd have a hard time totally destroying a Hatak ship. Remember the one in the Arctic? It survived a planetary re-entry mostly intact."
"Why not use the self-destruct?"
"It is possible that the Followers of Heru'ur did not want to do that. Their desire would be to preserve the ship for Heru'ur's eventual return," Teal'c said.
"I'm presuming that's what we want to do too," Jack said. "The preserving part." He vividly remembered what had happened to their last Hatak ship, how they'd come so close to having it but then lost it when it crashed into the Arctic Ocean. He still couldn't stand to watch Titanic.
"That would be our preference," Hammond said.
"I don't understand," Jonas said. "That ship has to be at least three hundred years old. The information in its data banks is hopelessly out of date."
"It's not necessarily the information, Jonas. It's the technology," Carter said. He frowned at her, openly puzzled. "Sir, we know that the goa'uld develop very little of the technology they use. They cannibalize other peoples' stuff. Because of this, I doubt there have been any major advances in their technology in centuries."
"You believe that the technologies on that ship would be comparable to what the goa'uld currently use?" Teal'c said.
"Without seeing it, I can't be sure," she qualified. "But it's a possibility."
Hammond nodded. "That was Colonel Ronson's assessment as well. I want you to go to Tagrea and investigate this ship. If it's worthwhile, then we open negotiations with the Tagrean government to obtain access to it."
"Why can't Ronson do it?" Jack asked. "He's already there and has the relationship built."
"Because Colonel Ronson wouldn't know a working Hatak ship from a non-functional one," Hammond said, his bluntness catching Jack off guard. "Like it or not, your team happens to be our best experts on goa'uld technology and most able to determine if the ship is salvageable or not."
Jack sighed, acknowledging the man's words. Sometimes it sucked to be the best. "Then with your permission, sir, Carter, Teal'c and I will leave in a couple of hours," he agreed.
An awkward silence settled over the table. "What about me?" Jonas asked, looking distinctly hurt.
"Frasier hasn't cleared you for active duty yet," Jack replied. "And going through the gate is considered active duty."
"But research isn't and that's all we'll be doing," Jonas argued.
"Jonas—"
"Sir, he did develop a bit of a relationship with Mister Solamun," Carter said.
"And his assistance would be most welcome in translating any artifacts we find," Teal'c said.
Jack looked both his teammates in the eyes, both pleased and annoyed at their little rebellion. They were sticking up for Jonas the same way they would have for Daniel. In a way, it was nice. In another way, it was a bit of an issue. Yes, Jonas was recovering. And yes, it would do him good to get out. But even though Tagrea was a known planet and a relatively peaceful place, it was still off-world. And off-world held its own inherent dangers.
"It's your call, Colonel," Hammond said.
Jack was ready to say no. He'd have done the same to Daniel. Heck, had done the same to Daniel. Sometimes his curiosity overrode his common sense. Then he looked at Jonas and saw the uncertainty in the man's eyes. He wanted to go, maybe felt like he needed to go. Jack sighed again and shook his head. "Fine. You can come. But," he raised his voice a bit, looking Jonas in the eyes. "If I have to carry your ass back through the gate I'll ground you for the rest of the year," he threatened.
"You won't, Colonel, I promise," Jonas said.
"Sounds like it's settled then," Hammond said, getting to his feet. "You can leave when ready."
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Those That Forget
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